


The Devil Went Up To New York

by AndreaLyn



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, Stripper AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 09:35:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1644014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Kirk was supposed to hit it big. Instead, he's starting work as a bartender in a decidedly odd establishment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil Went Up To New York

**Author's Note:**

> It's a Coyote Ugly AU!

This isn't exactly how Jim Kirk supposed his career would go. He was supposed to land it big and make it in the acting business with a possible side gig in singing, just like his mother had always insisted would happen because of his golden good looks. "The busy rush starts at about ten," Uhura is explaining as they walk through the strange bar and Jim takes a tour of his new life.  
  
He's supposed to be rich and famous.   
  
He's not supposed to be a bartender just to make ends meet. He's definitely not supposed to be taking this job just because he saw some Asian dude counting his  _hundreds_  of dollars in tips at the diner the other day, talking about how he's going to miss the money when he becomes a pilot. He snaps to attention again and stops thinking about his pathetic life and his pathetic apartment and the pathetic excuse of a romantic life he has when Uhura stops short in her tracks.  
  
"I'm taking a chance on you, kid," she warns, sliding behind the bar to start pulling out new inventory. "Any questions?"  
  
"What's with the pole?" Jim asks warily, stopped right in front of a silver stripper (or fireman, he's not about to judge) pole sliding from ceiling to the long expanse of the wooden bar.   
  
Uhura glances up from her study of Jim's body. "That? That's Bones'."  
  
"What's Bones?"  
  
" _Who_  and you'll see later tonight. And honey, you better not be wearing that. I need a tighter shirt, tighter jeans, and you might want to put on some eyeliner. Gay men make up forty percent of my business here," she says with a gesture around the bar, "and they tip the best. Go get ready. And Jim?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"From now on, you go by Iowa."  
  
 _Yes'm_ , Jim thinks to himself, but doesn't say aloud. He distracts himself from the current predicament of his life by getting ready (apparently the last bartender who didn't last, a man by the name of Riley, left clothes in the backroom and Jim's changed into them; tight jeans, tight shirt, studded belt, eyeliner and all) and then sits on a stool at the bar, watching the bartenders trickle in.  
  
The first is a blond cherub of a thing that looks too innocent to be working at a place like this, but one look at him in the right light (and that wink) and Jim understands.  
  
Next is a girl with the most incredible rack Jim's seen this side of the dark half of the moon. Her hair is dyed green and she's looking at him like a piece of meat.   
  
The last is a man. And when Jim says that, he really does mean a  _man_. He's broad at the shoulders, wearing a cowboy hat perched on his head, and carrying a tote bag with boots and leather pants peeking out. He doesn't even bother to acknowledge Jim and goes straight to Uhura to give her a kiss on the cheek. "You ready for our first Sulu-less night?" he asks.  
  
"I've got a replacement," Uhura assures smoothly, gesturing to Jim. The Man glances his way and looks at him dismissively.   
  
"I thought I was your in for the gay crowd."  
  
"Women cream themselves just as hard," Uhura deadpans. "Don't get your ego in a twist, McCoy. You'll make enough to support her."  
  
Jim wonders who this  _her_  is, but puts that thought aside as he feels a light punch to his arm and finds that Uhura has drifted over to his side, yanking him onto his feet.   
  
"Let's go," she insists firmly. "Show's about to start and you need to start showing me some of this famed bartending skill of yours that you swore you had."  
  
This is  _not_  how Jim expected the night to go. He chalks it up alongside his life in the Unexpected column and just gapes as he feels the bottle of vodka start to slip out of his hands, barely catching it before it becomes nothing more than shards on the floor. He's pretty sure that he's never seen a rendition of The Devil Went Down To Georgia that goes like  _this_. Gaila (greenie) and Chekov (puppy) had slid up to the bar first in their boots and snakeskin pants and their tight shirts, using each other for leverage and the ceiling pipes as a place to hold on as they twined their bodies in new and inventive ways that got the crowd really going.  
  
(and shit, but Jim understands how the old bartender got so many tips if this is a typical night)  
  
Then, then the song got even stranger. Uhura joined in (and had one customer in particular really leering at her in a way that had Jim wondering if maybe he should have applied to be a bouncer). Just when Jim had figured nothing could get weirder than that, the hot and serious  _Man_  (who apparently was named McCoy) joined the fray. The grumpy, standoffish, pissy man that hadn't spoken two words to Jim just grinned at the crowd, tipped his black wide-brimmed hat low and begins to do things to the bar that Jim's pretty sure are illegal in most states. His body moves and dips and bends in ways that Jim hasn't seen since he dated a gymnast and about halfway through the violin solo, he understands (as McCoy wraps his leg around the pole) that this is Bones and that is his pole.  
  
Bones presses his chest (clad in a tight tank top, showing off those glorious biceps of his) to the pole, hooking his leg around the midsection and sprawling backwards, biting on a lemon held out by a woman in the crowd (perched perfectly in her mouth) and hauls himself upright, taking a shot of tequila from out of a glass of a woman in the front row whose breasts are definitely scientifically created.  
  
Then, then, he salts the goddamn pole and licks it clean and Jim wants to babble out that it's backwards, that's all backwards, but he's busy watching McCoy swivel his hips as he descends the pole and then he's on his hands and knees on the bar crawling over to Chekov and brushing his cheek against the kid's snakeskin pants, breathing hot air against his crotch and making Jim really, really wish he didn't have a hard-on in these jeans.  
  
"Iowa!" Uhura snaps from behind him, somehow managing to pitch her voice above the noise with ease. "What are you doing back here? Get on the bar!"  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"This is the job," she yells at him, temporarily distracting him from the way McCoy is thrusting his hips. "Get on the bar."  
  
Jim stares at the bar (soaked to the brim in alcohol, smelling of kerosene and vodka and sweat) and then stares at Uhura. He knows he's a good-looking man and he knows that his body can move in criminal ways (according to some of his former lovers). He just has way too much goddamn respect to be sinking to that level.   
  
"No," he gets out.  
  
"Then this is it for our arrangement," Uhura says briskly. "Take your tip money and go, you're no use to me."  
  
"Wait, wha...?"  
  
"If you work at this bar, you dance," Uhura adds above the noise, cashing out the register and jamming money into his hand. Jim stares at with frustrated confusion for a long moment before he clenches his hand around it and throws off his smock, heading for the bar's exit.   
  
He probably would have gotten there faster if a pair of cowboy boots hadn't stomped right in front of his face two feet from the bar's edge.  
  
"Where the hell do you think you're goin'?" comes the sticky sweet Southern drawl from above him.   
  
 _Bones_.  
  
Jim swallows back an angry retort as he stares all the way up the very interesting planes of McCoy's body and feels the bass of the music in the bar pulsating through him, out of time with his heartbeat and distracting him from what he's supposed to be doing. "I'm leaving."  
  
"Like hell. I've been waiting on someone who ain't Chekov so I don't feel like a dirty old man," Bones announces, extending one hand to him. "Come on. Ignore the crowd," he coaxes. "It's all about eye contact. It's just you and me. Come up here and show me how they dance in Iowa."  
  
Jim knows that this is probably a mistake, but he grabs at both of Bones' hands (later, over drinks, McCoy will tell him that he'd earned the name because he used to be a doctor and he was good at making people quiver down to their bones) and lets himself be pulled onto the bar. Bones shifts his hips and starts walking backwards, coaxing Jim towards him with a crook of a finger.  
  
Jim's heartbeat is racing now, faster than before, but still out of time with the music as it pulses at three-fourths time.   
  
There's no more than inches of space between them and Jim's hearing suddenly goes hollow, like the world is rushing by. He can vaguely see Uhura watching him with curiosity, can dimly hear catcalls in the distance, and can faintly see Gaila and Chekov whispering. His whole world has narrowed down to Bones in that cowboy hat bringing him onwards until Jim's thumbs hook into the loopholes of Bones' leather pants, tugging their bodies flush together.  
  
"Knew there was a rabblerouser in you," McCoy whispers into his ear and licks all the way from the hollows of his throat to the corner of Jim's mouth, biting down hard and grinding up against Jim to the collective ' _oh!_ ' of abject pleasure from the club.   
  
Jim hooks one hand around Bones' back, sliding it to the dip that leads into the small of his back and stares up at Bones, who mouths 'eye contact' to him and Jim feels a slight thrill of pleasure rush through him when he slides down to the bar in one fluid move and ascends slowly, giving his muscles a real challenge as he pauses midway, staring up at Bones with the bright and brilliant blue eyes that everyone talks about.   
  
He licks his lips and turns, ascending the rest of the way with his back to Bones' front. He feels like he can barely breathe and his heart is definitely going so fast he could qualify for a heart attack at any moment now.   
  
"Fuck, kid," Bones hisses out when the song ends and Jim turns around to catch the dazed look on his face. "Tell a man before you try and strangle his cock."  
  
Jim thinks that means he's done  _something_  right.   
  
As he hops off the bar, Uhura is watching him with one brow raised. "So, you're leaving, are you?" she teases mildly.  
  
"Apparently I can be compelled to stay?"  
  
Jim's life goes from unexpected to even stranger within days. One day he's just trying to get by and three days later, he's having body shots sucked out of his bellybutton. Four days after that and suddenly he's being invited up to Bones' one-bedroom apartment for dinner.   
  
He's almost curious to see if there's a stripper pole in the bedroom, but there's nothing out of the ordinary. It's just a king-sized bed with sheets that are rumpled like Bones has had sex the night before (and it hadn't been with Jim).   
  
He's learned two things over the course of the last week. One, Bones has a monthly tradition of stripping down to blue boxer-briefs to a song so aptly titled  _Striptease_. Two, he takes a mic once a week and just sings songs to the willing female audience (which had included Gaila, Uhura, Chekov and Jim in the front row with kleenexes for various purposes).  
  
He feels a hand pressed to his back and turns to see Bones offering him a beer. "I thought I'd get you a drink since you bothered to come hang out."  
  
"Bones, are we having sex here?"  
  
"It's a drink, Jim. Have the drink."  
  
"We've pretty much had sex on the bar, we don't need to dance around this," Jim insists, in disbelief that he's in the bedroom, staring at the bed, staring at Bones in a pair of loose sweats that are showing off the impeccable curve downwards of his hips because his shirt just rides up slightly too much. "C'mon, Bones, can't we just..."  
  
"Dad? Dad, I got dinner!"  
  
"...Dad?" Jim echoes. "Please tell me that's just some kinky hooker you hire once a week."  
  
Bones just stares at Jim with a glare, chugging back the beer and clapping Jim on the back. "Uhura wanted you to meet Joanna because she needs to take tomorrow off to see her strange stalker. Chekov and Gaila are out shopping, so the kid-watching task falls to you." He smiles apologetically and shrugs. "We're in here, kiddo!"  
  
"Eugh, Dad," Joanna sighs as she wanders in, thirteen and definitely favoring Bones' looks, like she's a tiny female him. "Mom says that there's a video of you on YouTube and it already has thirty-thousand hits, but when I looked, it's some crappy rip of you doing the usual monthly karaoke routine." She takes a long look at Jim. "...is this my new babysitter?"  
  
"Uh...your daughter watches your routines?" Jim asks warily, all plans of sleeping with Bones in that bed flying out the window.   
  
He's pretty sure his childhood had been fucked up, but nothing like this.  
  
At least he understands the  _her_  in this situation now.   
  
*  
  
Babysitting goes fine if a bit terrifying at how well Jim gets along with a thirteen-year-old, work is going fine, Bones on the stripper pole is definitely  _more_  than fine, and Jim's still not a music star or an acting god. He can't seem to get up the courage to sing and apparently Bones has started to notice.   
  
They've closed up for the night and Bones is towelling himself off from the hose that Gaila had turned on him after someone had ordered water accidentally. He's licking his bottom lip, arranging chairs and staring at Jim curiously. "The hell is wrong with you. You just stood there tonight while I did my new move on the pole. Do you not appreciate me grabbing you closer by the hip and then getting handcuffed to it?"  
  
Just the thought of it makes Jim shiver slightly, but he still can't get over his disappointment over the latest rejection.   
  
"Everyone hates my music," Jim sighs out heavily, twirling the handcuffs distractedly as he sits on the bar, legs crossed and leaning back as he tries to cheer himself up by thinking of Bones in that mussed bed of his. "I sent the single out, but they say that I have to perform live."  
  
"So what's the problem?" Bones asks as he drags his white t-shirt over his head and replacing it with a dry black one.  
  
Jim shrugs and rubs the fur-lined handcuffs over his forearm slowly, letting it raise goosebumps on his arms. "I hate performing in front of people. I mean, I don't mind in front of the mirror, but I freeze up in public."  
  
Bones drags one of the chairs over and perches it backwards, sliding into it and spreading his legs in a way that's extremely distracting and Jim stares, trying to think of all the ways he can hook Bones' ankle to the stripper pole. Jim clears his throat and crosses his legs a little tighter.   
  
"What are you doing?" Jim asks with a wary laugh.   
  
"Grab the mic, up on the stage, and sing," Bones instructs.   
  
"I'm sorry, what?"  
  
"On the stage. And sing. Before I leave and you don't come to my place with me." Jim stares at Bones dubiously at that. "Okay, fine, just get up there and sing to me. Just look at me. You can dance on that bar every day, you can grab a microphone and sing to me."  
  
Jim feels a flutter of anxiety pulse through him and he drops the handcuffs on the bar with a clutter, staring at Bones in those dark denims and his torso-hugging t-shirt and he shifts to grab the microphone, leaning against the bar and letting out an embarrassed laugh. "Bones..."  
  
"Shirt off."  
  
" _What_?"  
  
"Singing in public is embarrassing. So let's get your self-confidence up," Bones coaxes, standing up and approaching, sliding in closer to Jim and grabbing hold of the hem of Jim's t-shirt, tugging it up slowly and pressing a hand up Jim's chest.  
  
Jim swallows hard and thinks to himself that he definitely needs to be in bed with Bones right now.   
  
"Bones, if you want to get me naked, you just had to say," he nervously laughs. Bones grins at him, slowly prying off his shirt and slowly unzipping the zipper of his trousers. "What am I even supposed to sing?"  
  
Bones helps tug Jim out of the jeans before he heads to the jukebox and presses a button, sliding back into his seat and coaxing Jim onwards. "Just think, you can sing and act and get famous and get your ass out of here so you don't have to slum it up with me and Gaila and the naive Russian."  
  
"I heard Sulu was coming back for him," Jim comments as he folds his clothes on the counter.  
  
"Don...don't worry about your goddamn clothes," Bones growls.  
  
"They'll wrinkle!"  
  
"You're standing there in briefs with a half-erection with Elton John playing and you're worried about folding your clothes," Bones says slowly as he stares at Jim critically. "I don't really remember you being that gay when we first met."  
  
"You chose the Elton, bastard!" Jim accuses, swiping the microphone and taking a deep breath, nudging off his socks with the toes of his feet. "Okay," he announces, breathing hard and hot and heavy into the microphone. "I know this isn't exactly you doing Garth Brooks and making everyone swoon, but put up with it."  
  
Jim laughs against the microphone and the breathy noises causes feedback before Jim closes his eyes and starts to sing along until he’s the more vocal of the two and he’s belting out  _Rocket Man_  like he was born to sing it. Standing there in his boxers, sitting on the bar with his legs crossed, he’s singing an Elton John song to a man who may or may not be his stripper-lite boyfriend.  
  
He finishes up and breathes out heavily.  
  
“I didn’t see much stage-fright,” Bones points out in a lazy drawl, coming closer to pry the microphone out of his hands, setting it back in its stand and holding onto the bar on either side of Jim’s hips. Jim glances down, lashes fluttering against his cheek as he stares at Bones.   
  
Jim’s fingers are busy smoothing Bones’ shirt out as he shrugs idly. “It’s not so hard singing to you.”  
  
“Then when you get up on stage, look right into those big bright lights and you think about me,” he coaxes, closing his eyes as Jim places a long kiss to his lips. “Come on. We’re going back to my place,” he murmurs, his voice a throaty and rough invitation. “I think it’s well past time that you and I started performing privately.”  
  
“Oh, hell yes,” Jim agrees with a growl, dressing faster than anyone has ever dressed in the history of dressing.   
  
They take a cab back to Bones’ place and Jim doesn’t really remember most of it because he spends the duration of the ride in his lap, trying to suck his face off or kiss him until he can’t breathe anymore, but Jim’s fairly sure it involves both of their mouths and at some point, Bones had broken away to give him a hickey, making Jim gasp desperately and with determination, needing to keep this going.  
  
“Jo’s not there?” Jim checks as Bones pays the cabbie and Jim shivers, rubbing his arms as he tries to get himself warmed up.   
  
Bones just grins lasciviously to answer that question and tugs on the ends of Jim’s scarf to pull him inside and up each and every stair that ascends to that loft.   
  
“Nervous?” Bones whispers against Jim’s throat, pressing a sucking and biting kiss there.  
  
Jim has been nervous a lot of times in his life. He’s pretty sure that he lives on it constantly turning it into adrenaline and sometimes caving in to the sheer pressure of it weighing down on him. At this very moment, he doesn’t feel anything but really, really damn excited.  
  
They’re at Bones’ door and Jim stops them. “Hold on, wait. Wait,” he insists, grabbing Bones’ shoulders.  
  
“What is it?” Bones asks worriedly.  
  
Jim can’t hold his sober and serious face any longer and lets it fade away as he jumps into Bones’ arms, wrapping his legs around his waist and grabbing hold of his hair so tight that Bones  _yowls_ , giving Jim the perfect angle to kiss him while they stumble into the apartment.   
  
“Not nervous,” is Jim’s last word on the subject as they tumble onto Bones’ bed.  
  
*  
  
Jim had called in sick to work, except that now that the shift is over, he’s at Bones’ place and sitting outside his door with his messenger bag in his lap. He knows he’s probably in a lot of shit with Uhura, but there’s some saying about life being worth living that Jim’s pretty ready to haul out if worse comes to worse.  
  
Bones is covered in glitter as he walks down the hall and his hair has got streaks of paint going through it.   
  
“What did I miss?” Jim asks warily.  
  
“Long story,” he grunts and passes Jim to open the door, giving Jim a very clear opportunity to see various handprints in many paint colors on Bones’ ass. Something like possessiveness flickers through him and he grabs hold of Bones’ thigh with both hands to haul himself to his feet. “Where were you?” Bones asks dismissively over his shoulder.  
  
“I had a gig.”  
  
“And I didn’t get a call,” Bones says with this  _way_  that has this dark and depressing finality to it, like he’s been expecting Jim to fail him all along. It makes Jim want to scream, but he just follows Bones inside. “So is this it? You already done with me?”  
  
“Stop it,” Jim pleads.  
  
“I don’t think so,” he counters as he pries off his jacket and strips off his ruined shirt to grab his UofMiss t-shirt that he loves wearing to bed. “All this time I’ve been encouraging you and trying to get you to succeed and now that you’re trying, now that you’re actually making an effort, I’m not invited? Nice,” he scoffs sarcastically. “It’s good to see how much I matter to you, Jim.”  
  
“Bones, it’s not like that. You couldn’t have called in sick, either,” Jim tries to make his point.  
  
“I’d have explained to Uhura that my  _ex_ -boyfriend was performing,” Bones says curtly, yanking open his cabinet to haul out the Scotch. “Get out, Jim. I could handle a lot. Really, I could. But this was a big deal to you, a huge thing. And you didn’t want me to be a part of it, so I don’t want you to be a part of the big things, like my life.” He sips at the glass and heads to the couch, grabbing his book and letting it lie in his lap.   
  
“Bones!” Jim argues.  
  
“Get out, Jim.”  
  
Jim gets as far as the door and he closes it. He just closes it from the inside, leaning his back against it and watching the way that Bones lets out a breath, like it’s been hurting him to keep it in.   
  
“I’m not leaving.”  
  
Bones jumps and spills the drink all over the fabric of the couch as it sloshes too high. “Jesus  _Christ_ , Jim, get the fuck out of here!”  
  
“Make me!”  
  
“I’m not in the mood for your antics, boy,” Bones growls and gets up to head to the division between the apartment and the bedroom, sliding the door shut behind him.   
  
Jim hears the distinctive sound of a lock clicking, but there’s still a couch to be slept on and he’s going to be there in the morning. He knows that maybe he’s fucked up, but Bones is overreacting like he belongs in the Overreaction Olympics and Jim isn’t about to lose one of the best things of his life because of a stupid argument.  
  
So he’s going to be there come morning, whether Bones wants to see him or not.  
  
In the morning when Jim wakes up, his back is aching fiercely and Bones still hasn’t roused from the bedroom. There’s sunlight spilling in the front door and Jim rubs his eyes as he slowly sits up and stares forlornly, the epiphany of just  _how pissed_  Bones is with him coming clear. He knows enough that he makes just two phone calls before he goes to linger by the bedroom doors.  
  
“Bones?”  
  
He raps on the door with his knuckles and waits for the response. He can hear the soft footfalls of steps that say that Bones is just ignoring him and if he really listens carefully, there’s even heavy breathing. There’s just no response because apparently, Jim’s not good enough for that.   
  
“Look, Bones, I fucked up,” Jim says bluntly. “I was nervous and I didn’t want to screw up in front of you. But anyway, I want you to come to the bar tonight at six. Just…be there, okay? You can hate me, you can stay broken up with me if that floats your boat, but please just  _be there_  at six.”  
  
He waits for another five minutes in the vain hope that Bones will change his mind and come bursting out of the bedroom with his hair tousled and his clothes rumpled and an apology tripping past his lips, but nothing happens. Instead, there’s just more silence punctuated by soft sounds that say that Bones is  _there_ , he’s just ignoring Jim.  
  
“Fine,” Jim mutters. “I’ll see you later.”  
  
He tries to keep his mind off of Bones the whole day as he turns up at the bar and pleads his plan to Uhura (who agrees with a sympathetic look on her face), but it doesn’t work. He stares at the pole and thinks of Bones, he stares at the bar and thinks of him. The jukebox kicks in and plays one of  _their_  songs and when Jim is done being disgusted with himself for ascribing songs to them, he misses Bones some more.   
  
He’s not even expecting Bones to show up later, but that doesn’t stop Jim from searching the crowd that slowly comes in. Person after person and Bones isn’t there, though the seats are filling up easily.  
  
“Are you nervous?” Gaila asks as she rubs Jim’s back.   
  
“Is not big deal if you fail,” Chekov points out. “We make good money, yes?”  
  
“But it’s not doing something that he loves,” Gaila argues right back. “It’ll be fine, Jim, don’t be nervous.”  
  
With his eyes on the crowd of people in their folding chairs and the lighting going lower, the performance is minutes away. Jim knows that he should be absolutely and fully terribly nervous, but all he can think about is the fact that Bones didn’t come. He can feel his heart slowly sinking lower in his chest and he wishes that he didn’t feel so absolutely gutted.  
  
Uhura is there as the lights go from dim to gone and she places her hand on his shoulder. There’s nothing but the din of whispers and darkness as she passes the microphone to Jim and leans in close. “I know I shouldn’t be encouraging you to find new work, but if this is what you want, I suppose I have to support you. You ready?”  
  
“I thought he’d come,” Jim says dully, the dark offering no solace as he knows that there’s an audience full of people out there, but not one of them is the one he wants.  
  
He feels arms slide around his waist from behind and he leans back into the grip, wanting to tell Uhura that she doesn’t have to comfort him like this (not that he’s going to argue against it because it makes him feel safe) and he lets out a shaky breath.   
  
“It’s just…I don’t know. I did this to prove to him that he had a hand in helping me. I’m singing the song he picked for me before my demo and I wanted him to see. I couldn’t have come this far without him.” He closes his eyes and as he’s trying to calm himself, he feels the press of lips to his neck. “Uhura!” he shouts in alarm. “I really don’t want to get beat up by your crazy stalker boyfriend!”  
  
“Shut up, Jim,” murmurs a thick, heavy,  _male_  voice in his ear and those arms around his waist tighten and let Jim feel how strong they are and figure out just  _whose_  arms they are.  
  
“You’re late,” Jim accuses, feeling high and breathless.  
  
“Had to pick up Joanna. And we hit traffic,” Bones explains as he pulls Jim tighter against his frame. He presses another kiss to Jim’s neck. “I thought about our fight last night and maybe I overreacted. Just promise me that in the future, you’ll talk to me about the important things.”  
  
“Trust me,” Jim exhales with bemusement. “I’d love to avoid having to sleep on the couch again. So uh, I have to go out and sing,” he points out.  
  
He gets a smack at the ass, which makes Jim grin widely. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” Bones encourages. “I’ll be out there with Joanna. Knock ‘em dead, kid. I know that you’re going to make me proud.”  
  
He slides away from Jim and instantly the contact is missed, but Jim’s whole body is singing with relief that he knows that Bones isn’t mad at him any longer. No matter what happens tonight, he hasn’t ruined anything with what he’s done in the past. Jim grips the microphone tighter in his hand and readies himself for what’s coming next.  
  
He steps up the curtains, takes a deep breath, and there he goes.  
  
*  
  
“Just over there,” Jim directs Uhura with a hand, blinking rapidly when he hears the radio right by his ear, blasted on full. “Joanna,” he sharply complains. “For the last time, I love you, I love that you’re supporting me, and I appreciate this more than anything, but please, please, please stop blasting my song right in my ear.”  
  
“Yes, sir, Jimmy Cyrus,” she mocks in return with a mock-salute, heading inside Bones’ loft to start digging through boxes in her attempt to help, which is really nothing more than a veiled and sad show of digging through his things as if he has anything interesting. He doesn’t, but he doesn’t want to deny her the search.   
  
Jim sets the last of the boxes down on the ground and lets out a heavy sigh, looking for where Bones has disappeared in the loft.   
  
“Bones?” he calls out, sliding the doors open to get to the bedroom, finding him shifting all his possessions in his drawers in order to make room. “Hey,” he greets cheerfully. “So, still sure you want to be dating an up and coming music star?”  
  
“I dunno, you happy to be dating a man who’s most intimate friend is a stripper pole?” Bones replies evenly.   
  
Jim isn’t really under any delusions that Bones is about to quit his job, but maybe he’d been hoping that he’d at least decide to give medicine one more shot, now that one of them had steady income coming in. Whatever it’s worth, Bones must have noticed the wary and uncertain look on Jim’s face, because he cuffs him upside the head, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.   
  
“Don’t worry. My last show is next week and then it’s back to certify for the Board,” he whispers against Jim’s ear.   
  
“Does that mean we have to get rid of the pole here?” Jim asks, staring over at it (Jim’s birthday present to Bones and to himself, really) with a longing look. “Because I feel like Missy and I have really bonded.”  
  
“…why did you name the pole?”  
  
“Because it’s rude to have sex against it and not name it! Her!” Jim protests with a cheeky grin on his face, collapsing into laughter because even he can’t keep up a joke for that long. “C’mon, Uhura said she’d take Jo out when we’re done and give us time to christen the place. I just have one request.”  
  
“Name it,” Bones insists.  
  
“Don’t you dare play my song,” Jim warns.  
  
Bones grasps Jim’s hips tightly, lifting him up and setting him atop the nightstand, swiping papers and books to the ground. “And here I thought you’d ask me to give up all the assless pants and the see-through shirts.”  
  
“Not on your  _life_ , Bones,” Jim promises.   
  
And they lived happily (well, and financially secure with many embarrassing YouTube videos of them circulating) ever after.


End file.
